


don't let oikawa be the sober friend

by brites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beer, Belly Kink, Burping, Drunkenness, Emetophilia, Soda, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6680860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brites/pseuds/brites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi is more than a little drunk, and Oikawa is not a nice person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a Tumblr prompt! The request was a very burpy Iwa-chan, so I hope I was able to deliver. I hesitate to call this a sequel to growing pains, because it's very obviously set years later, but hey.

Tooru isn't used to being the responsible one.

Circumstances had forced him into it this time, of course -- he had an important volleyball game tomorrow, playing against one of the strongest universities in Tokyo, so he simply couldn't afford to drink too much the night before. Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi hadn't been so inhibited. Free of the responsibility of being the "sober friend" for the night, Hajime had joined his friends in what for him was a rare indulgence -- drinking a lot, letting loose, and handing the job of worrying over to someone else.

That someone had been Tooru; and now that the night has wound down and the partying come to an end, he's already concluded that he doesn't like being the responsible friend.

They had split off from Makki and Mattsun a while back, when Mattsun had apparently decided vomiting the night's alcohol up into a bush was a great idea. Hanamaki, far from sober but at least having a better grasp on his liquor, had stayed with him. Meanwhile, Tooru and Hajime continued on to their apartments.

Things would have worked out well, Tooru supposes, had Hajime not managed to lose his house key. They'd checked his pockets, his jacket, even his wallet; the key had been nowhere to be found. With his roommates out of town for the weekend, Hajime would have been out of luck had Tooru not reached deep into the goodness of his heart and agreed to bring him back to his own apartment.

That's how Hajime winds up following him home like a lost, very drunk puppy. Tooru isn't sure whether he can get any blackmail material out of this, but he's damn well going to try.

That Hajime's drank too much is obvious. His gait is heavy and unsteady, stumbling up the stairs to his best friend's apartment with swaying footsteps. Tooru watches Hajime warily from where he walks behind him, ready to catch the other man should he fall, but Hajime is -- if not steady on his feet -- still thankfully upright. As he moves, the sound of beer sloshing in his stomach is audible; every so often his stomach will gurgle and Hajime's hand will glance across his own abdomen, but he otherwise seems safe from sharing Mattsun's fate.

The door opens easily with a turn of keys, and Hajime staggers in as if the place is his. It might as well be; he spends enough time there. Toeing off his shoes clumsily, Hajime proceeds to make a beeline for the bedroom, and Tooru only hesitates to hang up both their jackets before following.

When he gets there he finds that Hajime has already made himself comfortable on his bed. The dark haired man tosses Tooru's sheets over his lap and leans back against the wall, sighing. His hand comes up to muffle a belch, but it doesn't do much good. Hajime doesn't seem to mind; either his sense of shame vanished with the alcohol or he's just too lazy to really try to excuse himself. Tooru suspects it's both.

"I'm not such a brute when I'm drunk," he tosses over his shoulder, scrounging through his drawers to find a pair of pajama pants that might fit the other man's more stocky physique.

"Y'are," his friend mutters in reply, but he doesn't sound as grouchy as his words might imply. "You're a hot mess, at least. I know, since I'm the one who takes care of ya all the time."

Tooru has a clue as to what type of drunk he is -- he's the Affectionate Drunk, the type that can never not be cuddling someone for too long, the type that clings hard and whines when someone tries to pull away. He supposes this extends into his second mode of drunkenness -- the Horny Drunk.

It's landed him in a couple of awkward situations before -- never with Hajime, but that's just because the other man has more integrity that to give in to Tooru's drunken come-ons. Tooru's always been somewhat grateful -- if he ever does do _that_ with his best friend, it's something he wants them both to be sober enough to remember the next morning.

Hajime is far from sober now, though. He stares up at Tooru's ceiling with a wide eyed, somewhat distant look, still nursing a final beer bottle in his lap. His face is flushed red and hot, lips open slightly in a subtle pant matched by the rise and fall of his chest, and he looks... debauched, in a way that Tooru can't help but find incredibly sexy.

He doesn't vocalize this; instead, stripping off his own shirt, he announces, "None of my shirts are going to fit your ridiculous mucscle arms. Since we're obviously sharing a bed--" (Hajime has made himself quite comfortable and doesn't look eager to go anywhere else) "-- I should probably tell you that my room gets cold at night."

"It's fine," the other man replies, staring into the dregs of his beer bottle distractedly before sipping away the last remnants. Once he's done he sets it on Tooru's bedside table, ignoring the sharp look the other shoots him for leaving trash around his room. "I feel warm anyway. I'll sleep in my boxers."

Tooru watches as Hajime, with the level of frustration and swearing typical of a drunk, manages to divest himself of both his t-shirt and jeans. They find their new home on the floor next to Tooru's bed; the brunet rolls his eyes before mimicking his friend, leaving his pants on but disposing of his own shirt atop the newly formed laundry pile.

All the movement doesn't seem to sit well with Hajime's drunken state. His brow creases, and he palms the center of his chest a few times before unexpectedly letting out one of the loudest belches Tooru has ever heard.

" _BruuuuuUuuuUUURP!"_

Once he's done, Tooru's eyes are wide; Hajime's are even wider. To his credit, the drunken man recovers quickly. He huffs, shifting uncomfortably in place as one hand moves to rub his stomach in slow circles. It takes Tooru a minute to realize that the night's consumption has created a slight beer gut in his friend. He knows it's temporary -- Hajime has the habit of getting full and bloated on the rare instances he overindulges -- but it's still something new.

"Aww, Iwa-chan," he teases, running his own hand over the slight belly his friend now sports. Hajime cringes.

"Stoppit," he mutters, beginning to turn away; in his drunken state, however, he winds up turning into his left side, leaving his face nearly level with Tooru's. The setter grins, reaching up with one hand and brushing his thumb over the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Hajime's nose.

"We're really close," Hajime says, as if realizing it for the first time. Tooru hums his agreement.

"I don't --" he starts to say, but then cuts himself off; he quickly ducks his head, pressing his face into Tooru's shoulder before he muffles another burp against bare skin. The effort is valiant, and Tooru grins before shifting his position slightly so that his front is pressed directly against his friend, his trim stomach against Iwaizumi's own.

"That's rude, Iwa-chan," he scolds even as he shifts his weight, agitating the liquid in his friend's belly even more. Letting out a soft groan, he can't tell if Hajime realizes he's trying to provoke him, but it works.

Iwaizumi burps loudly again, his chin resting now against Oikawa's shoulder; he sighs, and then yet another slips out, harsh and somewhat painful sounding.

"It's beer," he mutters, as if Tooru hasn't figured that out by now. "Hate the stuff."

"You still drink it. You drink grandfather beer, like an old man."

"An' you won't drink anything unless it's flavored and colorful. Someone's gonna serve you battery acid in a pretty glass one day, an' you won't even know."

Tooru thinks this to be a rather pessimistic assessment of his own refined palette -- he would never drink battery acid unless it was laced with something really strong, or he happened to be in the presence of Ushijima. Rolling his eyes, he somewhat maliciously claps his friend on the shoulder, and Iwaizumi immediately jolts with another burp.

"Urgh - stoppat! You're a bastard."

"I'm rubber, you're glue, you're drunk, and you're in my house. You can leave anytime you want."

Iwaizumi mutters something else, but it's slurred and mostly incomprehensible because of the alcohol. He looks so darn cute when he's pouting that way -- he reminds Tooru sharply of Kyoutani, their moody underclassman from high school. Despite not being a pleasant drunk, Iwa-chan is at least an entertaining one.

"I can't go home," Hajime mutters, frowning at Oikawa's collarbone. "Lost my keys."

"I thought I was supposed to be the irresponsible one."

"You --" Iwaizumi stops, belches into his fist, and then nods. "No, you are."

Tooru huffs and scrunched up his nose in an exaggerated pout. One of his hands has taken to massaging gentle circles in between Hajime's shoulder blades, slowly venturing up and down his back. The other strokes through his friend's hair, running fingernails lightly along his scalp. It's a small thing, but he knows how susceptible Hajime is to people playing with his hair; sure enough, where on any other day the pout would have gotten him smacked, now Hajime actually huffs out a laugh.

"You know... when I get sloshed like this, you're actually not so bad."

"Ahh. Thanks, Iwa-chan, you absolute romantic. You should write poetry."

"Your eyes," begins Hajime, apparently taking him absolutely seriously. "Your eyes, your eyes are brown like... _UUURP_!"

How touching, thinks Tooru, reaching across Hajime to grab the water bottle on his bedside table. He had drank a bit this morning, but that probably doesn't matter to Hajime at this point -- besides, it's not like he has germs.

"Drink," he orders, thrusting the water in his face, and Hajime groans as he turns his head away.

"Don't wanna. Really full, Tooru. 'M ready to... sleep, not drink more. No more. Too full."

"Your entire body will hate you in the morning if you don't drink at least a bit of water. Otherwise your hangover will be so terrible you won't get out of bed all day."

Tooru's been on the end of the "Hangover Prevention" speech enough time that he knows how it goes. Hajime goes silent for a moment, considering the words. "... got a class tomorrow," he says eventually, sounding resigned. Tooru nods approvingly as his friend sits up once more and takes hold of the water bottle.

Hajime tilts the bottle to his lips and begins to take a few gulps; almost automatically, his stomach lets out an impassioned gurgle, and he has to pull away to belch. He doesn't bother covering his mouth this time, and Tooru can't decide whether this is charming or ridiculous.

"Ugh," Hajime groans, but as Tooru nudges him on he dutifully continues to down the bottle. He has to stop every few seconds to burp some more, and Tooru suddenly wonders what would happen if he tried to give his best friend some soda on top of this.

As if reading his thoughts -- maybe he is becoming a bit too transparent -- Hajime levels a glare at him over the rim of he water bottle. Tooru responds with an innocent, beaming grin. Hajime's shoulders jolt slightly as he covers his mouth with the back of his hand, but he appears satisfied as he drops the now empty water bottle to the floor.

"Hey!" Tooru protests. "Don't trash my room!"

"It's your room, so I don't even feel bad," Hajime retorts, lips quirking up slightly in a smirk. His stomach is rounder now, obviously very full, and it groans when Tooru places his hand on it. The grunt Hajime lets out of equally interesting. Tooru's eyes scan his bedroom until they land on his desk, where a can of Mounatain Dew sits left over from a study session the night before -- he had never even gotten around to opening it.

He pulls away from Hajime momentarily, ignoring the annoyed noise his friend makes, to grab the soda off of the table. He cracks it open and leans back against the wall once more, appeasing the other man. Almost immediately Hajime settles back against his shoulder, but before his eyes can close Tooru presses cool metal to his lips.

"Nuh-uh," he protests automatically, hardly seeming to even recognize _what_ the drink is -- only that it's something else to go into his already full stomach. "Don't want it."

"Iwa-chan, it will make you feel better." (It won't. It will probably do the opposite, actually, but Tooru isn't about to say that out loud.)

Iwaizumi, at this point, is too drunk and tired to put that much thought into it. He hears the words "feel better", and it kind of surprises Tooru how quickly the other man trusts him. Hajime pushes himself up, the movement automatically making him jolt forward again with a hard belch. It's almost enough to make Tooru feel bad as he hands his friend the soda -- almost, but he's always been too curious for his own good.

Iwaizumi tilts his head back and takes a swig of the carbonated liquid. Automatically he makes a face, frowning as he realizes just what he's drinking, but Tooru quietly urges him on.

Hajime eyes him warily for a moment that feels like an hour. "Damn sadist," he mutters, but then he turns back to the drink and Tooru's eyes are sharp as they watch him.

Hajime doesn't quite make it halfway before he has to stop, leaning forward with an arm around his stomach. The belch that escapes him is strained, a testament to the amount of pressure his stomach is under. Tooru wouldn't blame him for giving up now; but with another glance at him, Hajime swallows and continues on.

The second the can is emptied, Hajime flings it to the floor. He sinks back against the wall, and then automatically against Tooru again. The brunet watches his friend sink against his chest, too out of it to even try to muffle the series of small belches and hiccups that escape his mouth. Tooru pats his back sympathetically (which probably just makes things worse) but his gaze is locked on Hajime's stomach -- more than a little round now, swollen and resting heavily on Tooru's thigh.

"Really full," Hajime manages between belches. "Oh wow. God."

Tooru shushes him softly, stroking his hair again. Hajime bites down on his lip, burps anyway; the sight is both endearing and sympathetic at once. As his friend settles back into his arms with a sigh, it's obvious that Hajime can do about as much to stop burping and hiccuping helplessly as he can to keep himself awake any longer.

"You're going to have to worst hangover tomorrow," Tooru observes, somehow doubting his water trick had done much to help. Hajime hums his agreement. "Can we agree that I can bring this up later on in our relationship when I want you to be nice to me?"

"You're not bein' nice t'me," Hajime slurs. "You -- yer a demon."

"Aww, Iwa-chan! It's not nice to compliment someone without any warning! Look at me, I'm getting all flustered!"

He tries to reply, but seems to give up halfway; burying his face in Tooru's chest is easier, inhaling the sweet scent of his cologne and absorbing the familiar heat of his body. Tooru is just as content as Hajime. They've always worked better together than they did apart; as a single unit, rather than as two individuals, they slowly drift off to sleep in each other's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Hajime woke up to a pounding in his head, a lead-like feeling in his stomach, and the pressing knowledge that he _really_ needed to pee.

Cracking his eyes open was his first mistake. The mid-morning sun was shining brightly through the thin blinds of the bedroom windows, and as soon as a flood of bright light seared his corneas Hajime was groaning miserably and rolling over in bed. Pulling the covers up over his head, he debated the possibility of staying in bed for the rest of the day and trying to sleep his way through what was definitely the worst hangover in recent memory.

“Ah, ah, ah!” chimed a voice from the doorway, startling him through his haze. “You have a class today, remember? You were very worried about it last night.”

Hajime’s lips curled in an automatic sneer. “ _Oikawa_.”

“How can you say my name like that when you passed out in my bed?”

A flash of surprise hit Hajime with the force of an electric shock; hastily, he glanced down at his mostly bare body, relieved to find that his boxers were still securely in place. Thank the gods. He'd never been that kind of drunk, and he trusted Oikawa to have more integrity when sober, but the same couldn't be said for everyone else.

“Why…” Hajime sat up slowly, the covers still blocking the worst of the sun from enhancing his already pounding headache. “Why am I in your apartment?”

“You locked yourself out of yours, Iwa-chan. You lost your key.”

Hajime cursed. He could hear Oikawa, chuckling, moving closer as his soft footsteps padded against the bare floors.

“Don't worry. I came to your rescue -- and I also found your keys for you this morning. Turns out you have them to Makki sometime last night -- you said something slurred like, ‘if I try to drive, shove them down my throat,’ or something awful like that. I thought, ‘ _that_ sounds like my Iwa-chan!’ Responsible and vulgar to the end, even when too drunk to see straight. Good for you.”

Oikawa had to be still talking just to torture him. It was the only explanation. “Go away,” Hajime groused, flailing unproductively behind him for a pillow to either press over his head or fling at Oikawa. “Can't deal with… _you_ right now.”

“I brought you some water,” Oikawa whispered, now close to his covered ear. “And some aspirin. I'm making breakfast right now, when you're ready.”

Okay. Maybe Hajime could deal with Oikawa for a little while. He might have had the face of an angel and the personality of a demon, but even he had his good moments. (Not to mention, he always seemed to be an endless supply of painkillers.)

It was probably stupid of Hajime to be so eager, but his painfully dry throat demanded action. Only when he actually downed the aspirin, however, followed by several large gulps of water, did it dawn on him just how full his stomach felt.

 _“Ulp.”_ Pressing a hand over his mouth, the other automatically moved to clutch his stomach; bloodshot eyes widened as he took in the obvious bloating where his abs had been just hours ago. His gut felt tender and soft, a distinctly nauseous feeling rising when he actually tried to put pressure on it. He shifted slightly in bed, and his stomach sloshed with liquid.

Slowly, his gaze moved to Oikawa, who was watching him with sharp eyes and an unreadable expression.

“What. Did you. _Do._ ”

Oikawa blanched. “ _Me_? How is what _you_ did my fault?”

“It’s always your fault!” Hajime snarled, his head pounding far too much for actual yelling. “No way did I drink that much beer last night! You bastard, I remember you giving me that soda! What were you trying to do, drown me?”

“Iwa-chan, if I wanted to drown you there’s a bathtub right down the hallway!”

The mention of bathtubs and bathrooms automatically dragged Hajime’s mind to his bladder’s crisis; with another glare at Oikawa, one screaming that this was _far_ from over, he forced his body into motion and hauled himself out of bed.

It was worse than he’d thought. He could hardly walk straight, could barely handle standing still in one spot for less than a minute; when he regarded himself in the bathroom mirror he was met with pallid skin, a mess of uncombed hair, and what resembled a frightening case of pink eye in both eyes. He was hungover, in a way he hadn’t been since the beginning of his freshman year of college. Even though he knew it was his fault and no one else’s, his most trusted instinct was telling him to blame Oikawa, so of course that’s what he resolved to do.

Exiting the bathroom, all he really wanted was to get back into bed and sleep for a week; but Oikawa was in the kitchen now, so he stumbled over to the couch and reclined back, shutting his eyes against the open window’s beaming light. The clatter of pots and pans might have been soothing to him on any other day, but now they just sounded like drills buzzing in his ears; opening his eyes seemed to pull everything into sharp focus, so it was very tempting to just sit absolutely still and try to fade out from the world for a bit.

Unfortunately, his body was the one thing tethering him to earth; and his body was definitely not too happy with him. Hajime’s stomach let out an unexpected gurgle, and he winced at the painful protesting of the liquor still lingering in his stomach.

“Ugh,” he muttered, gently rubbing at his abdomen in hopes of soothing himself, but all the friction seemed to do was make the cramping worse, to the point where Hajime had to draw his legs up to his chest just to ride out the tremors of pain and nausea coursing through him in waves.

He was never drinking again. This was it. He would never be such a foolish, irresponsible, _idiotic_ \-- oh dear god, he had class in an _hour_ \--

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s voice called out from the kitchen, just as a particular bout of nausea hit Hajime hard; a burp gurgled from his throat, and he promptly buried his face against his knees. He was not about to throw up in Oikawa’s apartment. If he could just manage to keep the nausea at bay, to keep it all down until his stomach was able to settle…

His stomach was revolting, he realized. All that liquid had nowhere to go, and was very unhappy about it.

“Oikawa, I don’t --” He stopped, lifted his head in the direction of the kitchen, and brought a hand over his mouth. “I don’t feel very well.”

Oikawa snorted, focused entirely on the two plates of breakfast he was assembling. “After all you drank? Who would? Poor Makki’s probably suffering just as bad, which is funny because _Mattsun_ was the one puking last night but he never gets hangovers--”

“No.” Hajime’s eyes fluttered shut. “I really don’t…”

Finally, Oikawa’s focus was on him. Taking a few steps out of the kitchen, it was easier to see his friend in the better light. Hajime’s tanned skin had faded to an uneasy shade of gray; a sheen of sweat lined his brow, and he was trembling slightly. His shoulders were heaving with each shallow breath, and the hand pressed to his mouth was very clearly holding back whatever was to come.

His eyes softened. “Iwa-chan,” he murmured, taking a step closer to his friend. “Can you walk? Can you try?” Even as Hajime fervently shook his head, he persisted. “Just try to get to your feet, come on.”

“No, I --” Hajime cut himself off with a sick hiccup before his hand returned to his mouth. “‘M fine.”

He obviously was not fine, and Oikawa wasn’t an idiot. If Hajime said he couldn’t walk, however, he obviously wasn’t lying. Grimly, Oikawa retreated into his bedroom and snatched the small trash basket from where it sat by his desk. It wasn’t as effective as a toilet bowl, but should worse come to worst --

And worse _was_ coming to worst, he realized as he returned to the living room and found Iwaizumi completely doubled over, back trembling and both hands clamped tightly over his mouth. His friend was the picture of desperation, and the sight of the usually indomitable Iwa-chan brought so low was enough that he couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for the boy.

No sooner had he passed the trash can forward than Hajime was gagging, harsh retches tearing from his throat as he doubled forward over the bin. Struck helpless, Tooru could only watch with wide eyes as his friend shuddered, sickness racing through him like an electric charge, but still refusing to be purged from his mouth.

“Oh -- _god_ \--” Hajime choked through his gagging, knuckles white along the rim of the trash can. “Tooru --”

“Shhhhh.” Suddenly he could move again; paralysis broken, Tooru suddenly found himself sitting by Hajime’s side, one hand patting his back while the other brushed the sweat from his brow. Hajime shuddered once more, belched -- and finally brought up a stream of liquid vomit.

Throat burning with acid, Hajime sputtered, spitting and gagging as his body trembled once more. He was only vaguely aware of Oikawa next to him; everything was a haze of sickness, aching pain, and a horrible burning taste in his mouth.

He went still for a breather, and managed to take a few deep gulps of air before he was suddenly doubling forward again, retching. This time he was more aware of the hand rubbing steady circles into his back, and of the other arm that was supporting him and helping to keep him upright through his ordeal.

When the retching finally abated for the second time, Hajime’s breaths were harsh and desperate. He was hyperconscious of his pulse pounding in his chest, in his temple, only enhancing his migraine; his stomach felt both hollow and still swollen, the wretchedly full feeling gone at last but still leaving him feeling nauseous and drained. Only when he felt Oikawa’s hand brushing at his cheeks did he realize tears had begun to stream from his eyes.

“I --” He hiccuped, shuddered again, and squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Oh_ man.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa crooned, voice like spun sugar as he pulled his friend closer to him. Deciding that his dignity had abandoned him long ago, Hajime allowed himself to slump fully against his best friend, riding out the cramp in his stomach and praying silently that he would not vomit again.

Minutes passed; Hajime wasn’t sure quite how long, feeling very hazy and distant just sitting there, but after a period of time Oikawa nudged the awful trash bin away from them both. He gently settled Hajime back against the couch, and the sick boy barely realized he had left until he was back again, trash bin now gone and toting a wet towel in hand. Carefully Oikawa wiped the residues of sickness from Hajime’s face and bare chest, allowing his hand to linger against his friend’s flushed cheek for a second before pulling away.

“Iwa-chan, come on,” he urged gently, trying to ease Hajime into sitting up on his own. “You can rest in my bed.”

The boy let out a low groan, slumping against his friend’s side in blatant defiance of his wheedling. Oikawa heaved a sigh, nudging him for a few more moments before at last giving up and flopping down on the couch next to him. “Fine,” he muttered, snatching the remote from the side of the couch and switching the TV on -- muted, for Hajime’s benefit. “But we are watching _Ancient Aliens_ , and you are not going to complain. My house, my rules.”

Hajime simply grunted and slumped forward, resting his head in Oikawa’s lap and allowing the setter to run long fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, and for a little while it was easy to drift away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> needless to say, iwaizumi never made it to class that day. /end


End file.
